Slaves of Hyperion (Star Crusades Uprising, Book 6)

by Thomas, Michael G.

  “Sir, our engineers have checked and checked again on their weapon. We cannot withstand even a single strike. Our armour is no thicker or more durable than that fitted to the cruisers. Our only advantage is our greater number of point defence turrets.”

  The Captain shook his head.

  “Like they did anything with Thunderer.”

  He sat back and examined the disposition of the remaining four ships. He had something in mind, that much the XO could see, but what? The force was still powerful, and the marine complement on board Santa Maria gave them a fighting edge. Assuming a single one of them could actually find somebody or something to fight. The Captain looked back at them.

  “What about these machines? Are they something we’ve seen before?”

  The Marine officer shook his head.

  “No, sir, this is something new. The technology is far from unique, but I’ve not seen that level of autonomous behaviour and speed in a combat ready piece of equipment. They were fast, accurate and followed Pontus’ commands instantly. I would suggest a mental or a visual control system tied in directly to the man. It was something exceptional and deadly. The closest I’ve seen is with a pre-programmed sparring drone.”

  He looked back to the display and took one more deep breath before continuing.

  “They don’t have any craft in the area right now. We could attempt to split the fleet, different heights and speed. We might lose one ship, but it would maintain the attention of their weapon so that the others could escape.”

  The XO shook his head vehemently.

  “What about their technology? They were able to jam our communications and shutdown our systems remotely. If we try and split up, what’s to stop them doing the same?”

  Captain Cornwall pointed to the display and the projected trajectories from the remaining ships. He tapped the shape of the Santa Maria and expanded out to show the increasing radius between the others.

  “If we activate our long range engines to full burn, we can be out of the gravitational field of Hyperion in mere seconds. The others could do the same. The only other option I can see is we abandon the ships.”

  The door to the CIC opened and in walked Sergeant Morato and three of her ASOG troop. She approached the Marine Captain and saluted.

  “Sir. We’ve cleared all access points from the breach, and there’s nobody else on board. We found this during our sweep.”

  She held up a small metallic object about the size of a man’s fist. At least half of its surface resembled a shell with slightly recessed contours on its smooth finish. The other half was ribbed and heavily indented before it reached a broken inlet pipe of some kind. Burn damage had marked in the rougher side, and it was heavily scored. The XO took it and examined it carefully before passing it to the Captain.

  “So?” he asked dismissively.

  The Captain looked at it but only for a moment before looking back to the Sergeant.

  “Well?” he asked though without the rudeness of the XO.

  “It’s a mobile communication node, like some of the gear we’ve found the Zealots using to communicate underground. I would guess somebody on board has been speaking with a person on the surface below or another ship.”

  Captain Cornwall looked devastated at the implication.

  “That is a serious accusation, Sergeant, and you have very little evidence to back it up. Right now, I have more important things to worry about than finding the odd trinket and piece of scrap on my ship.”

  He turned to his right and nodded to the XO.

  “Get us ready, we move out in five minutes. I don’t want to give these bastards any more time than we have to.”

  The XO nodded in agreement and moved back to the mainscreen. He picked up the microphone and proceeded to manage the men and women on the ship for a potential high-energy sprint from the planet.

  “Tactical, I need a full time and velocity assessment of their weapon. How long do we have from warning to impact?”

  “Sir,” replied the man, turning back to his console.

  “Captain!” exclaimed a desperate sounding Sergeant Morato. “If we have a mole on board, then they could tell Pontus of our intentions. So far he has kept every one of his...”

  “Enough, Sergeant. Take your troop and station them near the landing bay. We may need you again should Pontus and his robotic friends attempt to board our ship again.”

  He moved to Captain Carlos of the First Company.

  “Captain, get your men ready for potential action. I don’t know what’s coming, but three companies of marines could be quite a useful edge.”

  He saluted, making for the door as the Captain called out one last time.

  “Oh, and make sure everybody is in zero-g gear. Just in case.”

  With the marines now gone, he turned back to see his crew moving about their business in the CIC. According to the diagnostic systems, the ship’s power was up to almost eighty percent, and all the main stations were reporting in manually on the communications system. He recalled some of the stories from the Great War where some ship’s had been forced to run on oral commands than computer systems. It was slow and manpower intensive but alleviated the problem of hacked or damaged computer equipment.

  She’s getting back to normal. All that remains is can I get her out of here before that bastard does something else!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  With the creation of the new Alliance Military came a more professional and better-equipped fighting force. Gone were the days of militia, Army and Marine forces and instead the Navy and Marines would provide all the fighting power. The enlarged Marines were equipped with a mixture of weapons, but one lesson they had learned from the Proxima Emergency was the importance of close quarter training. Sergeant Spartan of the Vanguards had led the way, and never again would humanity’s ground forces forget their skills with blades.

  Edged weapons in the Emergency

  The journey through the thick atmosphere did nothing to improve General Rivers’ mood. The gloating Pontus and his entourage of machines and Zealots said nothing, but the look of amusement on the face on Pontus told him all he needed to know. He considered saying nothing, but it seemed they thought they’d already won. It was an opportunity. At least he hoped so.

  “So, Pontus. You have me, what are you planning next?”

  Pontus said nothing.

  “That’s it, then? You don’t even have the guts to tell me your cunning plan?”

  One of the Zealots leaned over and whispered into Pontus’ ear. The two laughed, but again no one answered his question. General Rivers decided on a different tact.

  “I’ll have to speak with your master then as you’re obviously incapable of answering even the most basic of questions. Just another lackey like Typhon.”

  The mention of Pontus’ brother seemed to strike a nerve.

  “You and your people can join the rest of your slaves. The ones that are left, anyway,” spat Pontus.

  The craft shook violently, and Rivers felt his side strike the sides of the small craft. It was a small vessel, much smaller than an Alliance shuttle.

  Probably taken from one of our civilian ships. He thought angrily.

  That was when he felt the backup pistol fitted into his jacket. He’d completely forgotten about it, as in the last year he’d had little opportunity to make use of it. He slid his right hand down and checked to ensure he wasn’t mistaken. The hardened plastic of the small hilt confirmed that it was a P12 high velocity coil- pistol, a variant of the more powerful carbines and rifles used by the ASOG units. Pontus looked at him suspiciously, and for a moment he worried he’d been spotted.

  “My people won’t leave me behind you know? They will hunt your friends down, just like I’ve been doing, and kill each of you, one at a time.”

  Pontus shook his head slowly but said no more. But it had given him a window, and even this small group of fanatical Zealots hadn’t noticed him slide his hand into the internal pocket of his jacket. He
tapped the side and accidently pressed the high-power option. It buzzed and caught one of the men’s attention.

  “What was that?” asked Pontus.

  The nearest Zealot shook his head and looked about before settling his eyes on the General.

  “It must have been him.”

  Pontus struck the man across the face angrily.

  “What? Why was he not searched? Do it now!”

  General rivers knew this was it. He had one chance, and he took it. He grabbed the pistol grip, twisting his wrist so that he could point it at Pontus. The enemy spotted him and unclipped his safety belt just in time. The blast was deafening in the confines of the craft. The impact tore though the nearest Zealot but also punched through the separating wall and into the pilot, killing both instantly. Alarms blasted and the craft spun out of control, throwing anybody not strapped down around the interior of the vessel.

  What the hell have you done! He thought with sickening amusement.

  * * *

  From space, the group of warships gave the impression they were idly orbiting the planet. The calm exterior hid the movement and procedures being carried out to ready the ships for what was to come. Marines fitted on their armour and checked their weapons while the crew double and triple-checked their systems while fitting on emergency gear and life-support equipment. Every one of them was ready for whatever terrible event might occur.

  “Sir, all compartments report ready for full burn. Marines are equipped and ready for battle. Cruisers Bellerophon, Minotaur and Defence all report they are also ready to power up on your command,” said the XO.

  Captain Cornwall placed his chin in his hand and looked at the video feed of the planet below. His gut told him to fire the engines, but nagging doubts wracked his body at the previous loss of Thunderer. If they were able to hit Santa Maria, the losses would be catastrophic.

  Indecision is the killer of ships. He remembered from decades ago during his academy days.

  Even though he had made up his mind, he was still wracked by doubt. The object Sergeant Morato had shown him was suspicious, but he had neither the time nor resources to throw at it when faced with such a deadly danger on the planet. That reminded him. He looked back down to the surface of the mist-covered jungle world and tried to look through the haze to get some idea of what was there.

  What are you doing down there?

  He inhaled and tightened his belt on his commander’s chair.

  It’s time.

  The microphone was already in his hand, and the crew were sat, monitoring their data streams but also waiting for the order. The rotating sections on all four ships were still moving, even though all crew and marines were strapped in and waiting for the inevitable acceleration of the main engines being activated. When powered up, they would maintain a contact acceleration of the same order as Earth’s gravity. The engines would then only cut prior to rotation and the reverse burn, but on this occasion the course was much shorter and designed to take them a day out from the deadly planet.

  “This is the Captain, prepare for...” was as far as he got before alarms triggered.

  As before, some of the systems shut down, but unlike the last time the internal communications remained active.

  “Status report, all stations!” barked the XO.

  Reports flooded in from each section, and as each one arrived, it was obvious they had problems.

  “Sir, engines are not responding, neither is navigation. Minotaur reports her engines are operational.”

  “Tell her to go. Everybody else, find out what the hell is going on!”

  The fear in his voice was clear and did nothing to instil confidence in the shaken crew. They checked their stations, but there was little that could be done from the CIC, it would require small teams to trace the faults. Either way, his attention was diverted from the current problems by a shout from the tactical officer.

  “Sir, the weapon signature on the planet has just activated.”

  “What?” cried Captain Cornwall, but in his heart he knew exactly what was about to happen.

  “I’m picking up seven blooms, exactly the same as before.”

  Seven? What can we do against such power?

  On the main screen a bright flash was all that remained of where ANS Minotaur had been as her powerful engines ignited. The great warship quickly accelerated and blasted out of orbit and away from the danger of the planet. The sight of the ship escaping the torment of the ground weapons sent a pang of relief through Captain Cornwall’s body. He looked back to his CIC and was brought instantly back to the situation at hand. The XO was straining to lean over to speak to the tactical officer. Both of their voices were loud in desperation, not anger. He looked back towards him.

  “Captain, we have two minutes until impact! We’ve got three ships with no power, and Bellerophon’s life support has just cut out,” said the XO.

  Two minutes!

  “Listen up!” he called out to his crew. “We have seconds to make a decision. If anybody has any kind of a plan, now is the time.”

  There was silence, just the sounds of alarms, and the continuous audio traffic from those stations still functioning and the other ships in orbit. Captain Cornwall looked to his XO to see nothing but his second in command shaking his head.

  That’s it then, all we can do is sit and take the punishment.

  “Sir, I have the source of the weapons on the surface, and they are based in a hexagonal shape around this one point. We could go to the surface?” suggested the tactical officer.

  “The engines are out. We can’t manoeuvre, and this ship would burn up on re-entry.”

  The XO nodded at the suggestion.

  “He’s right, Sir. If we head to the boats, we could evacuate the ship and land as close as we can to the weapon sites.”

  The Captain looked as though he’d just woken up.

  “Yes, we could then disable or destroy them, and potentially find the source of the ship control or communication.”

  He looked over to the tactical officer. “How much time do we have?”

  “Seventy-two seconds, Sir.”

  This is going to be close!

  He nodded to the XO and pulled at his straps. Luckily, the artificial gravity was still operating, and that would speed up the escape.

  “This is the XO, abandon ship! This is not a drill! Commence evacuation procedures. You have less than one minute to leave the ship. Landing zones are being sent to the nav units on all boats. I repeat. This is not a drill. Evacuate the ship!”

  With that, he unstrapped himself and made for the nearest escape lifeboats. In case of emergencies there were pods and boats situated at key areas along the outer skin of the rotating section. While the pods were very small, the lifeboats could carry up to twenty people. By the time Lieutenant Nilsson, the ship’s communication officer reached the nearest boat, she could already feel the reverberation through the metal plating of them ejecting from the ship. Their powerful retro-thrusters would blast the side of the hull as they moved away as quickly as possible. As she reached the door, she glanced back to see just three people left behind, and they were also moving for the door. The Captain and the XO were barking orders, and one marine guard was doing his best to manhandle them from the CIC towards the last lifeboat.

  “Captain!” she shouted as loudly as she could.

  He looked over to her, a look of disappointment on his brow.

  “Get off the ship, Sir!” she added and turned and threw herself into the escape pod. The door hissed behind her and with just a three second warning, the unit unbuckled from the ship and fired its engines. Her breath was forced from her lungs as the brief moment of acceleration forced her into her seat. Two other crew were already inside, and all of them groaned at the feeling. Then as quickly as it had started, the engine cut and the pod used its micro-thrusters to manoeuvre. She pulled her head around and looked out through the auto-block glass porthole. It was very small, not much bigger than her head and
triple plated for protection. She could see the Santa Maria as well as the other two cruisers that appeared complete dead in space. Scores of small shapes continued to blast away from the cruisers as well as a two larger landing craft that were following close behind her lifepod.

  “Look!” said the young ensign sat opposite. He looked barely old enough to serve, and yet his face betrayed exposure to terrible events. She recognised him as one of the new replacements that had joined Santa Maria’s crew at the same time as her. She watched his gaze and looked through the other porthole to see the glowing orbs of energy coming up from the surface. They must have been more than halfway to the ship now and showed no sign of slowing down or changing direction.

  Gods no!

  As she watched, even more life pods continued to eject from Bellerophon’s hull. They were taking too long, probably due to the loss of power to their habitation unit. With little or no gravity, it would take them much longer to reach the boats. In the seconds it had taken her to watch the ship, the projectiles had reached a height of just a few kilometres from the ships. They were out of time. As the glowing orbs reached a thousand metres, the automated point-defence turrets opened fired. Thousands of metal shards were showered on the approaching objects, yet they seemed to achieve nothing, and the seven shapes slammed into the remaining taskforce.

  “Come on, get out!” she shouted uncontrollably.

  Bellerophon never stood a chance. The first orb struck her underside and towards the bow. With a bright flash, a chunk the size of a landing craft was blown off, and the bow of the ship tore off into space. The cruiser might have survived had the second not struck her centre. Fuel cells or ammunition must have been struck because the entire vessel vanished in a bright orange flare of energy that quickly dissipated to reveal large chunks of drifting debris. Lieutenant Nilsson turned away, unable to watch the rest of the assault upon the now defenceless and powerless ships.